


Courgettes

by sorrel_forbes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, Vulnerability, baby birds, courgettes, magic wands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrel_forbes/pseuds/sorrel_forbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry considers things that make an impression on him throughout the course of his day. Eventually – inevitably – his thoughts turn to Draco Malfoy. EWE</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courgettes

Harry considers a courgette: on one side it’s almost black. As dark and deep as velvet, warm from hours of sunlight. It’s so compelling, with its perfect even finish. He wonders if it’s that dark because it’s drunk in so much sun, or if it’s the other way: so dark that no ray of sun could ever be reflected; every bit drawn in just as Harry is. He’s mesmerised; he’s holding it, and still he wants to hold it _more_. 

Its lightly furred surface is prickly as he turns it over, and when he does, he sees that it’s even more beautiful than he realised. Cast iron green blends into an underside of emerald, streaked with clear, pale highlights. It’s almost a shame to cut into such a beautiful vegetable, but even if he doesn’t eat it, it won’t last forever.

* * * * *

Harry considers a small bird: it has spindly legs that scrabble and push against his palm. There’s more power in them than he expects - maybe it could hurt him if he’s not careful. It would bother him more, if he allowed himself to think on it, that he is strong enough to damage it quite easily, maybe even without meaning to. He’s glad that birds are more difficult to grasp hold of than soap. But he’s also glad that it’s in his hands. It’s soft and warm and small. Quivering with life. Quiescent for a moment. So beautiful.

Even though the bird is uneasy, Harry has a good reason to keep it safe: it’s injured, and he can help. He wants to. On the other hand, he admits that this noble-sounding story is not the only reason he wants to hold it: to feel the creature in his hands is truly a wonder. And though it makes him feel guilty, having layered motives like that, it’s not the only reason he chooses to do the right thing.

* * * * *

Harry considers his hawthorn wand. _His_ wand, with which he has just apparated home. Without which he might not have survived Voldemort. He tried to return it to Draco Malfoy after the Death Eater trials, but what with one thing and another, that never quite turned out the way he imagined it would. He trails his fingers down its unpolished length: hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches, reasonably springy. It has a simple shape and a dark varnish. Pretty straightforward, and not really the sort of wand that Harry can imagine a Malfoy choosing for himself. But what would he know? In any case, it’s the wand that chooses the wizard. Otherwise, maybe Harry wouldn’t have chosen a first wand that was brother to Voldemort’s.

Harry has sometimes wondered whether he should feel betrayed by the holly wand. It’s a strange thing to think about. Can you be betrayed by part of your own self? He still remembers the joyful surge of magic that coursed through his body when he picked it up at Ollivander’s in a shower of red and gold sparks. For all the melodrama of the occasion, the wand itself felt _right_. Even thought it tied him to Voldemort, and refused to cast against him. Still, maybe the most important thing is that it allowed Harry to escape from the Little Hangleton graveyard alive. After all, everything else turned out alright in the end.

* * * * *

Harry considers Draco Malfoy. He’s standing in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place flicking his holly wand and sending another round of imperfectly shaped splodges into a frying pan. Draco’s never cooked by himself before, but he hasn’t waited for Harry to return from taking his injured bird to Hagrid, and neither has he called on Kreacher or Tibble. Harry knows that if Draco ever condescends to cook for anyone else it won’t be like this. He will orchestrate an elaborate, well-rehearsed and flawlessly presented affair. Draco’s decision to trust Harry with slightly irregular courgette fritters makes him feel happier than a shaken up bottle of Butterbeer. Harry smiles into his neck and breathes him in. Snuggles close, and feels him relax back into his embrace. Holds him tight, and wants to hold him _more_.


End file.
